Locked in hell, he counted the stones, the bars on the window, the incessant surges of the tide below, the prisoners, cataloging each sound.

One of them ranted.  One of them screamed.  One of them muttered curses in seven different languages.

Sirius pressed his head against the bars, listening as the night shadows fell across his cell.  There was something new tonight…someone was pounding his fists into the walls.  Or maybe this was just a new form of insanity, a new low to sink to, by one of the other prisoners.

He never noticed his hands were covered in blood…

mood: ecstatic
audio: Ani Difranco